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DRUBER
vs. THE BEAVERS AND DUCKS
Regarding the never ending evolutionary advancement of human kind, I am happy to report that life has become easier. What's that you say? Well, let me tell you. Over the course of the last 6500 years or so, human thinkers have been able to narrow the rules for a happy and successful existence down from hundreds of thousands of rules to live by (I offer the Pentateuchal books of Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy into evidence) to just a few. Yeah Buddy, no longer are men required to count their foot steps and meticulously kill, clean and dress their meals, while taking care to avoid relations with women during the time of menses. It's so much easier in these modern times to be happy, well and successful. We have evolved. No more 10 commandments. No more 8 Beatitudes (for the non Republican New Testament Believer). No more 7 Fruits of the Holy Spirit to walk by and be careful to exhibit. No longer must we observe the Holy Catholic Church's 4 Cardinal Virtues and 3 Theological Virtues. The I Ching and the Koran? Forget about it…Too much information. Napoleon Hill thought he had things pretty well baked and condensed into his "Laws of Success in 16 Lessons". Boy howdy, did he have things screwed up! Sixteen? That's DE-volving. And how much were Deepak Chopra with his 7 Laws of Spiritual Success and that gadfly Stephen Covey with his 7 Habits of Highly Effective People given to overkill? Child's play for mere simpletons those books. Yes, indeedy kids, we are in the 21st century and we now only have 5 Essentials to observe if we wish for ourselves a Winning Life. I learnt this from a vaguely familiar looking man, maybe the Wizard of Oz perhaps, on a day that found me in a desperate search for things I should resolve to do in order to make my life better. After all, the New Year was only weeks away. I was in a panic and I was vulnerable. I stumbled across this revelation in the most unlikely of places…a bike shop. The vaguely familiar looking man on the book cover also promised that he could make my bike go faster if I would buy an SRM wattage meter from him at a 25% premium to retail, and as an added bonus he would give me a diet plan and e- mail me a customized training program at no extra cost. Phooey. I didn't bother to read the book. I'm still working on "Blessed are Meek" and I don't want to have my bubble burst by finding out that essential #1 to a Winning Life is to latch myself on to the coat tails of a person due to make a meteoric rise to World Wide Superstardom and claim that the Superstar would be a schlub had he not followed your theory of periodization. Instead, I've decided that I will write my own book on the subject of success. Truesport has offered me an advance in the low 7 digits for rights to the proposed book's publishing and distribution. The working title is "Don't Be A Dickhead" It will be a one (1) inch thick book in large font type that even a US domestic pro cyclist could breeze through in less than a half day. After all, this shit has to be easy and if I lose someone's attention, the burden of their lack of success falls squarely on my shoulders. I can't deal with that kind of pressure. In the book I will detail various ways to avoid being a Dick Head.
You get the picture.
Oleg Tinkoff must be a Peach of a man. Has there ever been a man with a more forgiving nature in the sport of cycling? Certainly not Jean Marie Leblanc. I count on his new team's (Tinkoff Credit Systems) roster, in addition to our own esteemed Olympic Gold Medalist, no less than five (5) other riders who have won epic, yet unprecedented victories followed by equally unprecedented "false" positive doping tests a short while later. Everyone should be so lucky to have a boss like good ol' Oleg. What? You misreported earnings, back dated the options contracts and used corporate funds to purchase personal luxuries? Well listen here Buster - I'm gonna give you a two (2) year paid furlough to think about the mistakes you've made then I'll hire you back. And, if you promise not to do those things again, I'll give you a huge signing bonus. The only question that begs still to be asked is when Good ol' Oleg will sign Raimundas Rumsas and Frank Vandenbrouke as riders and install Oskar Camenzind as a D.S.
I have a spectacular wife. The Lovely Kathy spent the better part of last year planning a surprise trip for me for my Birf-day which happens to fall by sheer dumb luck on New Year's Eve. All I knew was that I needed to pack gear for a ski trip. Rev Billy had been filling our ears with tall tales of "out West" skiing and Kathy took it upon her own self to get us about as far West as one can go on the contiguous 48 and ski. When we got to Champaign International Airport I had no idea where in hell we were going. Kathy had planned on keeping it a surprise and then toying with me when we connected at O'Hare by taking me to different gates to conceal our final destination. Her plan was foiled by the ticket agent in Champaign who handed me my luggage claim ticket with the destination of PDX printed on it. Hot Damn! Portland. This left me with either a connection to Whistler/Blackcomb or Bend, OR for our final destination. When we arrived at PDX, The Lovely Kathy called a shuttle when were at the luggage carousel. Outside waiting for the shuttle, we were run over by a belligerent bag lady with a hood over her head and a radiant smile that I recognized. Holy Cripes - the belligerent bag lady was my sister in law. I recognize that Barbie smile anywhere. I soon spotted our "shuttle" driver who turned out to be my brother who had flown up from Santa Barbara. Happy Birthday and Happy New Year! In the shuttle was a good friend of my brother who lives in Portland. Kevin and his wife Anne own a cabin just outside of Bend about 17 miles from Mt Bachelor. We spent the next 5 days half drunk on red wine and brown likker in between epic and vicious battles with cross country skis, the slopes of Mt Bachelor and crazed Beavers and Ducks. On NY Eve, Kevin built a Bonfire out of the Christmas Tree…
while I lived strong and protected the rum supply from a scavenging hoard of crazed Beavers and Ducks.
I'm wearing my T shirt from the Park City tourist trap. It's a souvenir from year I won the bronze at Master's Nationals in the TT. Or maybe it was the Silver year. I can't remember. It doesn't matter. I was doing important duty. At the stroke of midnight while we were toasting with Champagne and wishing each other peace and happiness in 5 easy steps, the entire population of Central Oregon went berserk. Explosives were detonated and guns were fired into the air. The ruckus was terrifying and I ran inside to avoid falling shrapnel. "God Damn…Kevin do you have a fire arm? Your neighbors are attacking!" "I do but it's only a BB gun that doesn't hold air" "Does it look like a real gun?" "I suppose so… (Removing gun from case) What do you think? It used to belong to my sister." "It will do" At that point Kevin started to load the gun with BB's. My brother the ultra liberal pacifist who had fainted at the sight of the gun was now coming to, mewing from underneath the dining room table. "Dammit!" I said to my sister in law. "Can't you slap that silly husband of yours? Our celebration is under siege" With that, Kevin said "I'll get the axe". Kevin is a unique sort of fellow. Incredibly intelligent, big hearted and generous while at the same time being the type of man who at age 43, is still adamant that Pink Floyd synchronized their recording of Dark Side of the Moon with the film Wizard of Oz. Earlier on NYE we stole some medical marijuana from Kevin's neighbors who were doing NY Eve in Portland and watched the film with Dark Side playing, but I remain unconvinced. He also thinks Joe vs The Volcano is the best film ever made. The axe Kevin was fetching is same axe that Kevin had earlier in the day threatened to chop me into little pieces with if I touched his pool cue. He had also suggested that we do some kayaking in the Deschutes River. He floated the idea of intentionally tipping my kayak in the frigid water. He said it would be fun. We settled on XC skiing instead. He took me up a 1000 foot tall cinder cone on approach skis. It was nice once we got to the top. I digress…At that point Steve passed out again. Not clear whether it was the notion of the axe or the combination of vodka and pinot noir. He swears it was the latter. Kevin showed me how to prime the BB gun. It took 37 pumps, and then another 47. He then showed me the proper technique for lunging forward while pulling the trigger in order to get the BB to dribble out at roughly the same velocity with which an old man with a swollen prostate gland pisses. "Kevin, this will never do!" The din from somewhere out beyond the trees was getting louder. The dogs were barking hysterically and my brother began wailing to add to the commotion. "The Beavers and Ducks are advancing! I need real fire power!" I think they're after the Rum and I'll be damned if I'll let it go without a fight!" At that point Kevin, over the objections of my now alert brother, pulled a real, .22 caliber single shot long rifle from his closet. It was wrapped up in silk and leather like Judge Smail's Billy Baroo putter. "This will protect us" Kevin gleamed. He refused to relinquish the fire arm until he showed me how to load the 20 grain .22 caliber shells, and then he went back into the cabin to guard the Rum. For you uninitiated, the 20 grain shell is a projectile that comes with a warning on the shell box that sates "these shells are not designed to for use in anything other than a .22 snub nose revolver". Essentially, there is no guarantee that the shells have enough gun powder in them to fire the projectiles with enough force for them to escape the end of the long rifle's barrel. In fact Kevin assured me that I could shoot my brother in the ass from five feet and it wouldn't break skin. Though it was a strong temptation, I did not take the dare. My brother was already beside himself with a combination of fear over the Beavers and Ducks and angst with defending himself. We were in dire straits and I didn't need to add to the mess by shooting my brother in his ass. Kevin fired a demonstration shot at a wind chime that barely caused the chime to move despite being hit dead center. "How am I supposed to keep all of those wild Beavers and Ducks away from the rum with this damn thing?" I roared. "It can't be done. I suggest we drink the rum. The Ducks won't have anything left to come after and the Beavers only drink White Zin or Smirnoff Ice and we don't have any of that here, so we're safe" was Kev's answer. And that, kids is how we survived and prospered on New Year's Eve in 5 easy steps. Next time, a real live product review with a chance to buy at a discount. Stay tuned. Druber
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